


Try

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Baggage That Goes With Mine, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past eating disorder, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trivia Wars, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Grantaire's words don't come from the person he expects.





	Try

**Author's Note:**

> This was gonna be a lot longer and a lot more angsty, but I'm impatient lol. I do still like the way it turned out, though.

Grantaire’s tattoo says  _ “Thanks for coming to the meeting, what did you think?” _ , so he used to go to as many meetings as possible, even for things he didn’t particularly care about. But it got hard, constantly hearing his words, and apparently never saying anyone’s back.

Then he’s on Bossuet Duty while Joly and Chetta are at work, making sure his best friend doesn’t die before he reaches thirty, so he doesn’t have much choice but to follow him into this dinky little cafe on the street corner for Social Justice Club.

The leader of Social Justice Club is the most beautiful human being he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s so fucked. He doesn’t interact much, already feeling so far out of place, just being in the same room as this golden god. His hands itch to paint.

“Who’s that?” he asks Boss.

“Enjolras.” Boss winces, stubbing his toe against the table leg as he sits down. “He and Combeferre founded Les Amis.”

Right, right, Les Amis de l’ABC, that was the name. “Which one’s Combeferre?” Grantaire asks.

Bossuet points to a tall librarian type - a young man in khakis and grandpa sweater vests. Grantaire’s first impression is that he’s stable, his second is that the golden god and the ebony sentinel obviously belong together, balancing each other the way no one else could.

“Are they bonded?”

“No one knows. No one’s asked.”

No one’s asked because everyone already thinks so, is what he means.

Grantaire resigns himself to worshipping his god from afar. He’s cruel, he thinks, because he knows his soulmate has competition now.

He stays quiet during the meeting, he already knows he’ll come back, and he already knows he’ll pick apart every flaw in their arguments then, just to have the scraps of his god’s attention.

_ I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me. _ He grins sarcastically at his own mind, and then he turns his attention back to the meeting.

After it’s over, he sits in the corner like always, waiting for someone to come to him first.

This time, it’s Combeferre. 

Boss waves him over. “Ferre! I finally brought R!”

Combeferre grins and holds out his hand. “Thanks for coming to the meeting, what did you think?”

He never stops feeling that rush of excitement when someone says his words. Grantaire shakes the hand and shrugs. “Could use some work, I mean, is it just me, or is it a little echo-y in here?”

Combeferre’s eyes light up and he smiles. “Dissenting voices are welcome, but it’s hard to disagree with Enjolras for long.”

Grantaire snorts. “Watch me.” He’s always been a contrary fucker.

“I will,” Combeferre promises, and it sounds like there are words he isn’t saying.

Grantaire narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

Combeferre bites his lip. “Can we talk outside for a bit? I could use the fresh air, but now I’m really curious what you have to say.”

Grantaire shrugs and follows him out the door. Bossuet wouldn’t be friends with a serial killer, he reasons, so it’s fine. (Well, actually, Boss would, but if he had, he’d probably be dead first, that’s just his luck.)

Combeferre offers him a cigarette, which is a surprise, then rolls his sleeves up, revealing forearms covered in tattoos. Enjolras _whomst?_

They smoke in silence for a short moment, while Grantaire tries to keep the drool in his mouth. “So,” he finally says, “I don’t disagree that the world is fifty shades of fucked up, but I also don’t honestly think one small student group can do much to change that. I know you’ve got some rich kids with connections in there, but I have to emphasize the kids part. No one’s going to listen. Enjolras may be persuasive, but he’s going to have to face reality sooner or later.”

Combeferre nods. “That is a concern,” he says, smiling. “I love him like a brother, and I believe if anyone can change things, he can-”

Grantaire snorts. “Mood.”

“-but his sphere of influence isn’t as wide as he’d like to be, and while he’s a big fan of eventually, eventually may never come.”

Grantaire nods. “Wait? ‘Like a brother’?”

Combeferre laughs. “You’re not the first person to assume we’re bonded, and I doubt you’ll be the last, but, yes, like a brother.”

“Your poor soulmate.”

Combeferre hums, closes his eyes, and breathes smoke out into the night air. “So,” he says. “What are your interests?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Anything I can get my hands on, really. I am a master of google and appropriating sources from Wikipedia.”

Combeferre grins. “Did you know that Australia fought a war against emus and lost?”

“Did you know cassowaries are the world’s most terrifying bird? They have five inch long talons and they’re more aggressive than my neighbor’s corgi.”

“Did you know corgis were said to have been bred by faeries as steeds for war?”

“Did you know Arthur Conan Doyle thought that faeries were responsible for photosynthesis?”

“Actually, he was simply reporting the theories of E.L. Gardner.”

“Damn.” Grantaire grins. “You win this round.”

Combeferre clicks his tongue in disappointment, but he’s smiling as well. “And we didn’t even get to talk about space or dinosaurs.”

Grantaire’s gaze falls on Combeferre’s tattoos. “Is that what those are?”

Combeferre holds out his right arm for inspection.

Grantaire can see planets, constellations, nebulae, and a trilobite.

“All the good dinosaurs are on the upper arm,” Combeferre tells him with a wink.

“You have sleeves?!” Grantaire blurts without meaning to.

Combeferre shakes his head. “And my back and chest, too. I’d show you, but it’s cold.” He stubs out his cigarette on the wall and holds out his other arm for inspection. “Legs are next, when I actually have money. Med school is expensive.”

“I might be able to help with that. Not to brag, but I give a decent friends and family discount, and my work’s not terrible.” This arm has flowers and book titles and the occasional line of poetry, but Grantaire can only look at the words framed in the inside of his arm, marching down from the crook of his elbow. He makes a sound like he’s dying.

“I’ve shown you mine,” Combeferre says. “Now you show me yours?”

Grantaire pulls down the collar of his shirt, baring his words to view, waiting for judgement.

Combeferre sighs with relief. “I’m glad.”

“Give it time,” Grantaire says.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow.

Grantaire sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m a recovering alcoholic with such poor mental health it demands three therapy appointments a week. You’re probably too good for me.”

Combeferre smiles and that’s - that’s wrong. “I’m proud of you,” he says, which is even worse. “I’m glad you’re getting help. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I’m a workaholic with a Zoloft prescription and a history of eating disorders. Our bad habits are probably going to clash, but we have a lot of the same interests, and I think if we work at it, we’ll be really good for each other.”

Grantaire laughs bitterly. “Aren’t soulmate relationships supposed to be effortless?”

Combeferre’s cold hand cups his cheek. “No, R,” he says, surprisingly intense. “Our marks tell us who’s best for us, but best rarely means free, or I wouldn’t see so many victims of domestic violence at my clinic. I’m willing to give us a try. Are you?”

Grantaire blinks in shock. “I’m going to mess up.”

“So am I. Hopefully, I’ll remember to apologize, otherwise, my moms will be very disappointed in me.” Combeferre’s thumb swipes across Grantaire’s cheekbone. “They’ll love you.” He chuckles softly. “I won’t be their favorite anymore, but I am definitely okay with that.”

Grantaire presses a kiss to Combeferre’s palm. “I’m willing to try.”

Combeferre beams.

Grantaire can’t help but smile back.


End file.
